Symbolic
by BandGeek58407
Summary: Ben finds his childhood pair of Converses hidden up in his dad's attic and comes to a deep conclusion, much to the disbelief of Riley. What could be so symbolic about a pair of shoes? Oneshot.


**So…I was watching National Treasure last night to cheer myself up after a large argument with my dad, my stepmother allowing me to go on my obsessive ten-minute montages, and I got this random fic idea.**

**Disclaimer: Don't own 'em. (cries) **

****

**_Symbolic_**

They were exactly like I remembered them: shoelaces an odd shade of gray, dirt smudged over the outside, the sole half-ripped from the top, and five sizes smaller than the shoes I had on at that moment. Even though I believe in what some would call farfetched concepts, the fact that this old pair of black Converses were still hidden up in Dad's attic amazed me.

I recalled the day I bought them, all the way back in 1974 on that awful stormy day. I really shouldn't say "awful," considering that was the day Grandpa told me the story that would change my life's course forever, the day that decided my fate and wouldn't let me turn around. I started this immense journey in a pair of Converses. Odd, if you think about—

"Ben? What did I tell you about stealing little kids' shoes?"

I turned from my crouched position by the old trunk and found Riley standing in the door, a bemused smile lighting up his face in the twilight. In the distance, a peal of thunder rumbled ominously.

"You never told me anything," I said, standing up, beat-up shoes still in hand. "These are mine."

"Psh. You're kidding!" Amazed, he slowly approached where I stood like I was in the process of sprouting an extra head. "These have got to be at least four thousand sizes too small. In case you haven't noticed, you have the feet of a giant." He snatched up one of the shoes and held them as a comparison next to my foot. As he grinned, as if saying "I told you so," he shrugged simply.

"Of course they're small for me. I bought them over thirty years ago."

"I might be able to pull off saying that about mine," he laughs, motioning to his own Converses. They, too, showed signs of severe wear— slight tears from snagging them on stray splinters under Trinity Church, ancient Olmec dirt spotting the toe, soles that had worn from trekking all over the globe and sometimes running for his life. Honestly, I was amazed they weren't being held together by duct tape in some way. I had tried that, and then Dad had hidden them. Only now had I found them, when I couldn't even wear them. "But I'm not getting rid of them anytime soon," he continued. "The day I do that is the day I'm asking to get killed. These things are good luck."

I was smiling in a sort of agreeing way when it hit me—they were more than just good luck.

"Ben? Earth to Ben? You look like you've just phased out."

"I've just realized something."

"Should have known. What is it this time? Fountain of Youth? El Dorado? Ian's nice side? Blackbeard's treasure?" he pestered, completely serious about every single one of those options.

"It's not a treasure, Riley." He looked as if I had just disproved everything he had ever known and as if I had then proceeded to demonstrate how two plus two could plausibly equal seventeen.

"Nah."

"It's not—I'm serious." Impatient, he sighed and tilted his head in an "I'm waiting" fashion. "It's more like a symbol."

"And how is that any different?"

"You being difficult is getting you no closer to being informed of my revelation."

"Fine then. What is this…" he paused, searching for the right words and then speaking with an earnest tone. "…oh-so-important revelation?"

I held up the shoes. "It's about our Converses." Immediately, his brow furrowed into a puzzled expression.

"Wha…? I'm having a hard time wrapping my mind around this one. Let me crash for an hour and then try to tell me. Frankly, any analyzing of symbols might make my deep-fried brain explode in a bubble of peanut oil." A quick supportive pat on the shoulder later, he was walking right back out the door, muttering something that sounded like "symbolic shoes…?"

Well, I have to admit, Converses being any sort of deep symbol did sound a bit odd, but it was true. It was in these shoes I began my historical expedition, drowning myself in books that weighed more than small children and learning the name of dead men no one else bothered to remember. It was in these shoes I did the research, looked up every woman named Charlotte that had ever lived, bothered every old librarian within a fifty mile radius of my childhood home. It was in these shoes, these Converses, I became a treasure hunter.

And it was in his Converses that Riley had become one too.

XXX

**And it only took me fifty viewings of the movie to catch that. Or more. I really don't know how many time's I've seen National Treasure. I do know that the count for Book of Secrets stands at 3 and will be 4 as soon as my city's dollar theater decides to stop being annoying.**

**Please review—you know you want to. **


End file.
